


Masks

by BicMomma



Series: Shades of Green [8]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:32:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8274601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BicMomma/pseuds/BicMomma
Summary: She knows the man who looks like Maes and acts like Maes isn't Maes... But we could pretend.Would you like to play pretend too?





	

She knows that the familiar face before her isn't that of her husband. The lips that kiss her daughter on the cheek are not his. Nor does the hand that gently guides the little girl inside belong to that face.

He performs magnificently before his crowd but Gracia knows the man who looks like Maes and acts like Maes isn't Maes. She knows her husband is very much dead.

Every morning he appears inside their house for breakfast. He eats and chats with them and then leaves for work. Work that Gracia refuses to think about. Right before Elicia arrives home he reappears and waits on the porch for her to get off the bus. One month later, Gracia doesn't know what to think of this creature who wears her husband's face.

"So tell Daddy what you did at school today."

"Sure!" the little girl exclaimed and followed him giddily to his chair where he sat down and lifted her into his lap.

"Today we did crafts and the teacher said mine was the bestest."

"That's my girl!" he replied as Gracia closed the front door and ambled into the kitchen.

She begins preparing dinner in a daze. She sets the stew pot to boiling and then lays out the vegetables. Tears threaten to spill as she is mincing onions until finally Gracia places the knife down and breaks down into tears.

She sinks to the ground as a raw and primitive grief overwhelms her. She is unaware of the footsteps approaching. She does not acknowledge the person kneeling down at her side or the familiar hand reaching out towards her and stopping inches away. All she knows is a bitter cold despair crept into the caves of her soul.

Moments later she feels a pair of legs brush against her and hears the sound of rapid chopping. Gracia lifts her head and finds a young man standing in her kitchen. His long dark bristly hair is pulled back away from his pale youthful face.

She rises to her feet and watches him prepare dinner like he's seen her do so many times. Stray wisps of hair the shade of dark leaves escape his ponytail and drift into his eyes. She notes those eyes are a beautiful violet color framed by thick dark lashes.

He no longer wears the blue uniform of the military. Instead he wears a simple sleeveless black shirt that cuts off inches above the waist of his dark jeans. Gracia smiled briefly when she saw he wore no shoes and simply allowed the legs of his baggy pants to drag the ground.

Without a word or wasted gesture, he handed her a tissue to wipe away the tears and blow her nose. Once she took it, the boy returned to preparing their meal.

"Where's Elicia?" Gracia inquired. He pointed toward the ceiling and began chopping carrots.

"I see. Upstairs in her room."

She wiped away her tears and watched him scoop up the vegetables and drop them into the pot. He skated across the floor toward the spices and selected the same bottles she always used when making stew.

"I'm surprised you remember which ones I use." Gracia told him. "I've only made stew once since..."

She grows silent as he merely glances at her from the corner of his eye before gathering the bottles and slides back to the stove.

His moves there are precise and exact, a stiff mimicry of Gracia's own as she cooked. He doesn't bother tasting the broth, safe in his knowledge of her recipe and begins stirring the pot, focusing only on the stew.

Gracia knows he's hiding but what she doesn't quite know. He never speaks to her, not directly. And never in his own voice, she notices. Only the voice belonging to Maes. In fact, this was the first time she ever saw what could have been his true form. Could, but most likely wasn't.

"Who are you really?"

Gracia didn't realize she spoke the question aloud until she heard him sigh. As he turned, he transformed into Maes's likeness.

"You want  _me_  to help  _you_  cook? Don't you know your cooking is the best in the world?" he exclaimed jovially. Gracia didn't understand what he meant or was doing until she saw her daughter come into the kitchen.

"Here's hoping I don't make a mess of the stew." He said more for Elicia's benefit as the little girl sat at the table. She watched silently as he 'accidentally' added a dash too much salt. Gracia sighed.

There was so much she didn't understand.

Dinner was like so many in the Hughes household. Gracia brings out three bowls and ladles out stew into each one. He expresses delight as Elicia relayed every minute detail of her day. Gracia only participated slightly in the discussion, caught up in enjoying the joy in her daughter's face. They eat and then Gracia clears the table and washes the dishes.

From the kitchen, Gracia can hear Elicia playing with whom she believes is her father. She's impressed and slightly fearful of his flawless performance. The right voice, the correct words.

She could almost believe that it truly is Maes crawling around on the floor with Elicia riding on his back. That the horrible day Roy solemnly came to her home wasn't real. Maybe the funeral was merely a nightmare borne of some midnight snack.

But there are subtle hints that the husband before her was the actual illusion.

The Maes in her living room had taken off his glasses to prevent them from breaking. The real Maes only took off his glasses only to clean them, before a shower and before going to bed.

The Maes in the living room was crawling too fast. Her real husband wasn't strong enough to move that fast with their daughter on his back. No one his size and human could be that strong.

The real Maes when he saw Gracia standing in the doorway would wink at her. This person pointedly ignored her and continued playing with her daughter.

"Okay, Daddy's had enough."

"Awww!" Elicia exclaimed with a cute pout. He actually stands up with her still holding on. She squeals in delight at the surprise piggy back ride, yet another hint he wasn't Maes.

"Sorry sweetie." He tells her. "Let's go do that homework that's due tomorrow."

"Giddy'up!"

He laughs and bounces away upstairs with the little girl. But as he passes Gracia, she could have sworn she saw something unexpected.

_Did he look…sad?_

"…And so the prince and princess lived happily ever after. The End."

"Night Daddy." Elicia yawned as he tucked her into bed.

"Good night, Elicia."

Gracia waits for him outside the door, listening to what has become the two's nightly ritual. Bedtime story, tuck Elicia into bed and tell her good night then leaves. She is alarmed when her daughter sits up and snatches his arm as he turned to leave.

"You'll be here, right?" the little girl asked. He and Gracia both can hear the tears in her voice. "You aren't leaving?"

"Of course not." He reassured. "Daddy doesn't have a lot of work in the morning. I'll be right here."

Elicia lays back down and he tucks her back into bed. She smiled and closed her eyes as he stepped out, quietly closing the door behind him. Gracia is there to confront him.

"We need to talk."

A decidedly non-Maes look crossed those familiar features and he merely shrugs and followed her downstairs.

"Who are you?" Gracia demanded the moment they were out of ear shot of Elicia's room.

"Do you  _really_  want to find out?" he countered. Gracia took a fortifying breath and nodded, bracing for the worst. She wasn't prepared for his answer.

"The man who murdered your husband."

Her mind refused to believe. She shook her head and her breath came out ragged. The person who came day after day, brought happiness to her daughter, whom she  _allowed_  to remain was…

" _Why?_ " she managed to whisper. It was all the chaos of thoughts and emotions whirling inside her would allow.

He changed and again she was faced with the young man from the kitchen. His bristly hair hangs around his face, his lovely violet eyes avoiding looking at her directly.

When she imagined who could have fatally shot her husband, Gracia could only picture some sort of monster. Unclean. Remorseless. Older than time. Covered in darkness and evil.

Certainly not the young man before her. Slightly rumpled. Indirectly kind and gentle with a subtle beauty.

"Are you asking why I shot Hughes or are you asking why I come pretending to  _be_  him?"

Gracia wanted to know answers to both and yet some odd warning sounded in her brain cautioning her against it. Did she really want the answer that cost Maes his life? Did she want to know if he planned on murdering Elicia and her too?

"I didn't want to see her cry."

"What?"

"Elicia." He told Gracia, casually moving toward the couch. He sat down facing her, still managing to avoid looking at her. "I didn't want her to feel the same way I did."

Gracia collapsed on the couch opposite of him. She urged him silently to clarify his perplexing statement.  _It was all because of Elicia?_

"At the funeral, I saw her begging everyone not to bury her daddy." He confessed then shrugged. "I can relate. I grew up without a father too."

"That's the reason…?"

"I originally planned just sneaking in, give Elicia a chance to say goodbye and leave. To try to make amends for what I had done. When I finally did, I found her crying in her sleep." he bowed his head and spoke quietly. "It brought back some painful memories."

"Countless sleepless nights wondering: why did he leave me?" He sighed, "What was so wrong…about being  _born?_ "

"I thought I was over it but seeing her crying, knowing I made her feel the same way he made me feel. That I did that to her, it actually hurt."

"I've killed hundreds." He confessed. "I've reveled in the misery of mankind for hundreds of years even curb stomped my own  _brother_  but a little girl…a child I've never met…made me feel guilty."

He looked up at Gracia, an expression of purpose shown in his eyes, "I wanted to make her happy and her daddy could do that."

Gracia had been silent until now and she hated that her words would drain the content light in his eyes.

"But you're not Maes." She told him. Gracia gained courage with every solemn word. "You have to know how cruel your act is. Elicia doesn't realize you're not her father. She doesn't know and when she does it will hurt worse than the day Maes died. "

"But she  _does_  know." He retorted. "She's always known."

"H-how?"

"I told her the first time we met that that no matter how much I looked like him or act like him, I wasn't her father." He paused and cocked his head innocently to the side, "Daddy is gone but her and Big Brother Envy could pretend, couldn't we?"

His tone remained unthreatening however his words seemed to take on a sinister quality. A shiver went down Gracia's spine.

"We could have breakfast and talk about school like Daddy and her would have. We could play, and do homework together. I could read her stories and tuck her in at night. It could be just like before Daddy went away…but I wouldn't ever die."

"Elicia could count on that." Envy told Gracia with a gleeful smile. "And whenever she didn't want to pretend anymore, Big Brother Envy would go to work one day and not come back. Just. Like.  _Daddy_."

"And what about me?" Gracia asked and Envy again cocked his head to the side, still smiling maniacally.

"Would you like to play pretend too?"

* * *

 

She knows that the familiar face before her isn't that of Maes Hughes. The lips that kiss her on the cheek are not his. Nor does the hand that gently guides the little girl to the bus stop belong to that face.

But he is not alone in his grand performance. Elicia knows the man who looks like her father and acts like her father isn't her father.

She also knows that her mother is buried in the backyard alongside Envy's mother.

But her and Big Brother Envy could pretend.

_Couldn't they?_


End file.
